


Vicious Cycle

by buffchester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And Molly is not happy about it, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Sherlock Makes Deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffchester/pseuds/buffchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's that time of the month.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vicious Cycle

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just say I was inspired.

Molly woke up groggily, the room warm from the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. Her headache was somewhat lessened, but the cramping in her lower abdomen persisted. She knew the telltale signs, and had displayed every single one of them. Before she slammed the bedroom door for her nap, she had shouted to Sherlock that she was _not_ being irritable and he should bloody well leave her alone and stop speaking if he knew what was good for him. She felt a little guilty about that now, but at the time she’d figured the great detective could stop deducing her for once and leave her be.

She looked up at the clock. _Half six already? Good Lord, when did I go down?_ A glance to the left of the clock alerted her to the presence of a tray, bearing a steaming cup and a plate of biscuits. Scooting over to the table next to the bed, Molly plucked the tray from its place and sat it on the bed in front of her.

The tea was perfectly prepared, and the plate held the biscuits with the chocolate on them that she loved so much. She devoured every crumb and drop as she wondered why she had never heard anyone bring in the tray.

Molly got up, tray in hand, and quietly opened the door, peeking her head around. She saw a mop of messy dark curls skitter away into the sitting room, giving the kitchen a wide berth. Narrowing her eyes, she watched Sherlock collapse on the sofa, pretending like he had been asleep. She took the tray into the kitchen and placed it on the counter, and went into the sitting room, arms folded.

“Sherlock?”

He started, looking around before turning his eyes to her, yawning for effect. Not a great actor, then. She smiled at him, leaning on the armchair.

“Oh, Molly, hello. Nice nap? Just took one myself,” he said, not very convincingly.

“I see that. It was lovely, thanks. Did you—did you bring me tea and biscuits?”

“Tea and—no, no, that must have been Mrs. Hudson,” he replied, frowning slightly as he sat up.

“Of course. Sherlock, I’m sorry for earlier, I may’ve lost my temper a bit.”

Sherlock stood and walked over to her. “It’s alright, I should’ve—”

“Stopped deducing me—”

“Checked my calendar.”

“Sorry, what?” She hoped he didn’t mean what she thought he meant. Sherlock froze, knowing that this was not information he should have let slip. Molly’s arms uncrossed and her hands went to rest on her hips. “Sherlock, what calendar?”

Sherlock paused before responding, his eyes cast down at the floor. “Well, since before we began our current relationship I started to notice that there were certain times every month when you were more emotional and seemed to have pains for no particular reason, and I deduced that these symptoms must have been connected to your menstrual cycle.”

Molly’s face reddened. “Sherlock.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “Please tell me you have not been tracking my periods. On a calendar.” She opened them again, fixing Sherlock with a formidable stare.

His eyes were still fixed on a spot on the floor. “Alright. I won’t.”

“Oh my god.” Her hands flew to her face and she closed her eyes. “Well, give it here,” she said finally, a hand outstretched.

Sherlock’s eyes popped up to her face as he looked at her, eyes wide. Knowing better, he reached into his pocket to produce a small datebook. Reluctantly he handed it over, preparing for a firestorm.

Molly opened the datebook to the current month. On yesterday’s date, today’s, and the next two days, a small “MM” was written in the corner in red ink.

“‘ _MM’_? Molly’s Menstruation? Bloody hell, Sherlock.” Molly threw her hands in the air in exasperation. Of all the ridiculous things she found herself putting up with where this man was concerned, this may well take the cake.

“Please forgive me, Molly. I know this is quite a violation. I only did it so that I might not upset you at times you may be emotionally compromised. It isn’t your fault, biology is clearly not on your side,” he said matter-of-factly.

“And the red ink?”

“Not related. That merely happened to be the pen I had nearby.”

Molly was still looking through the calendar, and noted that he had already written in months from now. “Sherlock, have you been able to predict my cycles?”

“Quite, I’ve been able to notice patterns that allow me to predict up to three months in advance.”

“And how accurate is it?”

“I allow a discrepancy of about one day before and after.”

“Impressive.” She did a quick check of some key dates, when she had planned to take her holiday, her birthday, major holidays. _This could actually be quite useful,_ she thought.

“I am very sorry. I will desist immediately, I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than I already have.”

“No—actually, it’s fine. Keep—keep going. I—I don’t want to worry you, I know this helps you a bit.” _Not to mention I already know I am good to go for holiday this summer—maybe I could talk Sherlock into going with me to that inn? May be romantic._

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, not quite understanding why she wanted him to continue. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” She planted a soft kiss to his lips as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “And in two days, I’ll show you why.”

 


End file.
